


Hey, Jealousy

by deepdownstarkraves



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepdownstarkraves/pseuds/deepdownstarkraves
Summary: It’s interesting, Yaz thinks, falling for the Doctor as she watches the Doctor fall for someone else. And by interesting, she means heart-wrenching.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All spelling and grammatical errors are my own. Enjoy.

It’s a frigid morning, colder than she anticipated, and Yaz makes a point of jogging down the flight of stairs as quickly as she can, if only to make it back inside sooner. As she reaches the last landing and heads to the large skip behind her building, she reminds herself to bring a thick jacket for—

“Don’t throw that away,” a voice tells her. “I can probably fix it.”

Yaz startles, turning away from the skip to see the Doctor standing not too far away, curiously eyeing the toaster oven in her arms.

“Doctor,” Yaz greets her, beaming. She approaches her. “I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until later this afternoon. You’re early.”

“Am I,” the Doctor says but the way she phrases it tells Yaz that her early arrival is very deliberate. It makes Yaz think of the expression the Doctor wore once they returned to Sheffield after leaving 1955, sad and a little lost, as if they were abandoning her. Then the Doctor’s face shifting to excitement and joy when she invited the Doctor, Graham, and Ryan over for tea. 

“How come you are early? Anything wrong in Sheffield?”

“I was looking for a cat and lost track of it.” The Doctor nods toward the toaster. “What’s that little machine done to offend you?”

“Sadly, it’s reached the end of its life,” Yaz replies, patting the toaster oven lightly. “Ten years it gave us perfectly burnt toast and scones and frozen in the middle pizzas. My family and I are autumn cleaning so I’ve been instructed to bin it.”

“I can probably do something about that,” the Doctor says, holding out her hand.

Yaz gives her the toaster. “Really?”

“It’s probably a wiring issue, something minor.” The Doctor starts walking, presumably, back to the TARDIS, wherever it’s parked. “Maybe I can improve it, too.”

Yaz falls into step with her. She should be going back to her flat because she has chores she’s been putting off all week. But what’s a few minutes more? “If you can fix it, I’ll owe you.” 

The Doctor grins, and there’s a touch of mischief in the way her lips curve up. “It’s never a wise thing, being in my debt,” she warns. 

Yaz laughs. “If it’s you, I don’t mind.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wants to kick herself. She meant to sound matter of fact, not flirtatious. But, to Yaz’s relief, the Doctor is thoroughly absorbed with the toaster oven, muttering something incoherent under her breath as she twists a dial.

The TARDIS is partially hidden behind a cluster of bushes, just steps away from Yaz’s home. The Doctor ushers her inside, and as she begins to tinker with the toaster, they talk. When they’re all together, there obviously isn’t enough downtime for idle chit-chat, especially with the amount of trouble the Doctor seems to stumble into. But the Doctor is less excitable, more mellow, when her focus is squarely on one person instead of three.

As she works, the Doctor recounts a tale about how she stopped Queen Victoria from marrying a Zygon impersonating Prince Albert. And Yaz listens with rapt attention because how could she not? The Doctor is and most likely will be the most interesting person she knows. The gravity of what she has witnessed, what she has done, could overwhelm Yaz if she thought about it too much.

When she finishes, the Doctor glances up at her through strands of blonde hair. “So what about you?”

Yaz quirks an eyebrow. “What about me?” 

“What’s your story?” the Doctor prompts, untangling a ball of wires and reaching for a tiny wrench. “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? I say something about myself and then you do?” She bites her bottom lip and shoots Yaz a worried look. “Unless I’ve been doing it wrong? Have I messed up?” 

Yaz shakes her head, chuckling. “No, Doctor you haven’t messed up. And no, I don’t have a story to tell. I’m just a regular girl from Sheffield, trying to become a full-fledged copper and make my way to the top.”

The Doctor shakes her head. “No matter how big or small, everyone has a story, Yaz.” Her voice is quiet and when she meets Yaz’s eyes, she is smiling and the dim lights from the TARDIS soften her features. “You don’t have to tell me now, if you don’t want to. But I’d like to hear it one day. I’m sure I’d love it.” And the Doctor sounds so earnest and so genuine that Yaz believes her immediately. 

Yaz smiles, feels her chest fill with warmth. “It’s okay. It’s no secret. Ask away.”

“I’ve been curious to know: why a constable?”

“Couldn’t be Batman so I thought this was the next best thing. Didn’t hurt that my career choice drove my parents mad, too.”

The Doctor slips a side panel on the toaster in place and seals it shut. “Do you always use humour to deflect questions you don’t like?” Her voice is light and easy but Yaz is still surprised by her forwardness. “You’ve already done it twice.”

“I—” Yaz starts but the toaster oven buzzes loudly.

The Doctor declares, triumphant, “Done!” She starts for the kitchen, motioning for Yaz to follow her. The Doctor finds a piece of bread in the fridge and feeds it into the slot, reaching for Yaz’s hand and placing it on the small lever. “Give it a go.” 

Yaz pushes the press handle down and the toaster’s timer starts. “So what—?” She cuts herself off when the bread pops up from the slot with a soft trill, perfectly golden brown. “It’s already done?”

“Not only is it faster, it can now toast the bread based on the user’s preference.” The Doctor taps the lever. “Just by touching this.”

Yaz takes a bite and hums in approval. “That’s amazing. Thank you. I guess I owe you now, huh?” 

“That you do,” the Doctor replies. She hesitates for a moment before she asks, hopefully, anxiously, “Will you go sofa shopping with me? I’ve been to at least thirteen shops and I have no idea which one to buy.” 

From that day on, it’s unspoken, the arrangement they have. Each week, when the Doctor comes to collect them for another adventure, she purposefully comes an hour or two beforehand, lands the TARDIS on the roof of Yaz’s building, and sends a text to her mobile that leaves Yaz grinning wildly and rushing outside. Sometimes, Yaz takes the Doctor around Sheffield, to the botanical gardens one week and Weston Park and a museum the next. 

Compared to what the Doctor has witnessed, Yaz suspects the Doctor will find Sheffield terribly dull. But no matter what Yaz shows her, the Doctor is always interested, always ready with questions, cheerful and bright. Sometimes, the Doctor takes her into space, just quick trips around the galaxy—an off-planet spa day here, an intergalactic ship race there—and back in time for Graham and Ryan. Sometimes, they remain on the TARDIS, watching meteor showers and nebulas go by while they sip Yorkshire tea. Always, they talk. 

Yaz makes a game of it, some half-formed thing in her head where she learns all that she can about the Doctor and her various moods.

Most times, the Doctor is inquisitive.

“Hear me out, Yaz: what if we had some vanilla ice cream mixed together with custard cream biscuits, some fish fingers, and lots of apple chunks? Do you think that would be good? I think that sounds brilliant.” 

Other times, the Doctor is pensive.

Another time period, another planet, another problem to solve, and the Doctor tells her after it’s all over, “Sometimes, I think I interfere more than I help, Yaz.”

Rarely, the Doctor is intentionally closed off and distant. 

“Where are you from again?” Yaz asks one day. “Please tell me all about it.”

From her place at the console, the Doctor pins her with a look she can’t name. “Gallifrey.” The Doctor says it in a way that tells Yaz the rest isn’t up for discussion.

Soon, Yaz notices other things, too. Maybe it’s the police training finally kicking in or maybe, as of late, she finds herself watching the Doctor more closely than she should. Yaz learns more about the Doctor from what she chooses not to say rather than what she actually does. Like how she’s more than happy to talk about where she’s gone but never about who she’s gone with. Or how the Doctor always looks a bit forlorn when it’s time for her, Ryan, and Graham to part ways with her for the rest of the week. Everything about the Doctor is deliberate and measured and restrained, carefully covered up in smiles and excitement and wonder. Yaz wants to see what she’s like when she’s not trying so hard to be those things. 

“You really don’t like being alone, do you?” Yaz blurts out one day as they sit across from each other at a local coffeehouse. She looks out the window, keeps her attention on a couple walking hand in hand down the pavement. “You know, sometimes when I watch you…” Yaz trails off, mortified. What she wanted to say sounded so much better in her head. But out loud, she sounds like a bloody creeper.

“You watch me?”

Yaz does meet the Doctor’s eyes now, sees her smiling around the rim of her mug, and it’s very easy to admit the truth. “Yes.”

The Doctor laughs. “I hope you haven’t caught me doing something embarrassing.” Her gaze is considering. “What do you see then?”

“When no one is watching you, you look sad.” Yaz notices the Doctor’s grin fade. She continues, tentatively, “I’m sure you tell yourself you’re fine and maybe sometimes you believe it, maybe you have no choice but to. Otherwise…” She trails off again, thinking she’s said too much, but she manages to finish her thoughts. “I’ve been there before. I know, first-hand, what it’s like to feel that way when you think no one is paying attention.”

The Doctor is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Yaz thinks she’s not going to answer. But then the Doctor polishes off the rest of her tea and licks her lips, says solemnly, “Someone told me once it’s best I don’t travel alone.”

“Why?” Sometime during their chat, the Doctor had slipped off her coat. It gives Yaz a view of her pale collarbone as she shrugs.

“I forget who I am supposed to be when I’m alone for too long and that’s never a good thing.” 

“So Ryan, Graham, and I remind you of who you are supposed to be?”

“All the time,” the Doctor says. “I like travelling with you three. You lot are good humans.” She gets to her feet, signalling the end of the conversation. “Let’s go get Graham and Ryan.”

As they head back to the TARDIS, the Doctor nudges her shoulder playfully. “Same time next week, yeah?” she asks. 

Yaz nods. “Same time next week,” she confirms. When she shuts the TARDIS doors behind her, she says, keeping her gaze on her shoes, “About what you said earlier, Doctor, if there’s anything that I can do, anything at all…I mean, if you’re ever feeling alone or down or whatever, you’re always welcome at my place.”

When Yaz looks up, the Doctor is standing right in front of her. She didn’t even hear her move away from the console and approach her. The Doctor is smiling, warm and gentle and fond, as she stares down at her and Yaz’s heart, always treacherous, always honest, stutters and pounds painfully in her chest. 

“You are so kind, Yasmin,” the Doctor tells her. “I’m really glad we’re friends.”

Yaz manages to nod, keeps her voice even as she replies, “Me, too. Least I can do after you let me see my Nani’s wedding.”

And then the moment is over. The Doctor is turning away from her and clapping her hands together as she says, “I’m sure Ryan and Graham are waiting for us. We’re already late. I believe this week it’s your turn to pick. Where do you want to go? I could’ve sworn you told me Antarctica in 3456.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the kudos and comments! I really do appreciate the positive feedback. Please note: in the future, I'll be upping the rating to M or E. All spelling and grammatical mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

On their day, the Doctor takes Yaz to Paris, to the Jardin du Luxembourg in 1892. Dawn is fast approaching, and they sit side by side on the edge of the pool, watching the first, bright rays streak across the Palais de Luxembourg. As it grows lighter, they trek from a vast lawn with perfectly trimmed grass that tickle Yaz’s toes to a wide, pebbled path that leads to an apple orchard in full bloom. In the apiary, the Doctor tells her about the basics of beekeeping as they steal tastes of sticky honey. She shows Yaz the orangery, the Medici Fountain, and the Pavillon Davioud. The Doctor saves the flora greenhouse for last. As they stroll through a metal archway covered in curling vines of roses, the sweet smell of flowers is everywhere, so thick and saccharine that it feels like Yaz has tripped head first into a perfume shop.

All of it is beautiful and Yaz is infinitely grateful but— 

“Dan Cooper?” the Doctor inquires gently, her smile knowing and a little sad. 

Yaz’s chest tightens as her brows furrow. Instinct is starting to kick in. This is the part where she wants to lie or make a joke. Over the years, she’s gotten so good at deflecting that she can almost believe whatever nonsense comes out of her mouth. I’m worried about Brexit, she told Sonya last week. I wasn’t a fan of this year’s John Lewis Christmas advert, she confessed to her co-worker last night. Yaz is about to feed the Doctor another lie when the Doctor regards her with a very assessing look that makes Yaz pause.

And it suddenly slips into place for Yaz: this trip to the garden was the Doctor’s silent way of trying to make her feel better, or at least distract her, because it’s been weeks and she still wakes in the middle of the night thinking about Dan Cooper. 

“How’d you know?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor’s hand reaches out, her thumb pressing softly against the creases between Yaz’s eyebrows. She keeps her thumb there until  the lines smooth out. “When you’re about to lie or something’s bothering you,” the Doctor starts, “your eyebrows draw together. So if you’re going to lie, no micro-expressions. Smiling helps.”

Yaz spots a wrought iron bench and takes a seat, the Doctor following her lead. “You sound entirely too experienced,” she grins weakly.

“Pot, kettle,” the Doctor quips, smiling slightly herself.

They fall into a comfortable silence and Yaz lets her eyes sweep over the greenhouse. She sees orchids and hibiscus but it’s really the wisteria that hold her attention. It stretches to the rooftop, trails and spills down the large windowpanes, leaving them under filtering flashes of morning sunlight, inhaling the scent of summer. Yaz’s smile gradually wanes the longer she looks.

“I keep thinking, ‘why not me? Why him?’ Why didn’t I insist on going with him? I just…let him go off on his own,” she wonders out loud. “What about his daughter? Giving her a necklace didn’t seem like enough.” The Doctor remains quiet and Yaz is grateful for it. She knows these are the type of questions no one can answer, not even the Doctor. She murmurs instead, “This has happened to you before.”

The Doctor nods, her gaze fixed on a hydrangea bush. “Too many times.”

After she says this, Yaz studies the Doctor from her periphery, sees the faraway look in her eyes and realises the Doctor has wandered off somewhere in her thoughts. Yaz knows she could spend the entirety of her life with the Doctor and it wouldn’t be enough. She only knows a tiny sliver of the Doctor’s experiences, the little she chooses to reveal. It’s slow moving, getting to know the Doctor, wanting to understand her, but Yaz is exceedingly patient. She’ll learn all she can for as long as she can. 

“So what do you do?” Yaz questions. “How do you move on?”

“I don’t think you can ever move on,” the Doctor replies seriously. “You just learn how to manage, to cope.” She finally looks at Yaz. “Everyone thinks of things they would do differently, if given the chance. I certainly have, and I’ll tell you what others have told me when I felt exactly as you do now: what happened to Dan wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You did your very best. The only thing you can do now is live your life, and live it well.”

“How?”

The Doctor offers Yaz a small smile, her eyes clear and alert again. “Be kind. Never be cruel. Keep your promises.” She nudges Yaz’s shoulder with her own, her smile widening. “Swear off pears and stop hiding how you feel with terrible jokes.”

Yaz returns the Doctor’s smile, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know my jokes have been described as many things: witty, hilarious, insightful. But not terrible. How _rude_.” She affectionately shoves back. “I’ll stop— _maybe_ —if you tell me something about Gallifrey.” For an instant, Yaz holds her breath. It’s been months since her first and last venture with this topic but her curiosity’s been chipping away at her common sense.

To Yaz’s relief and surprise, the Doctor’s smile doesn’t diminish. Her eyes are curious as she stares at Yaz, one brow rising pointedly. “All right,” she concedes.   

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, seriously. What do you want to know about Gallifrey?” 

“To be honest, I’m not sure. I didn’t think I’d get this far in my plan,” Yaz answers, laughing a bit. “Hmm. What to ask.” As she thinks, Yaz spies a small peony bud snapped clean from its stem by her feet. She plucks it from the ground and tucks it behind her ear. 

Yaz decides to start off easy. “Can you speak Gallifreyan?” When the Doctor nods, she asks, “Can you say something now?” When she notices the Doctor wavering, Yaz points out, “It’s not like I’ll understand you so there’s no harm.”

“It’s not that,” the Doctor replies. “It’s been a long time, maybe four or five regenerations back since I’ve bothered. My syntax might be off.”

“Again, I won’t know the difference. I’ll still be impressed.” The Doctor can literally feel the excitement radiating off Yaz. “Go on, then.”

The Doctor considers for a moment, their knees knocking together as she turns to fully face Yaz and say, _Miss Gallifrey I._ _Want see Missy I._ Her face scrunches up in concentration and she tries again, murmuring the words carefully. _I miss Gallifrey. I want to see Missy._

Yaz beams, the first genuine smile she’s had in weeks. “Gallifreyan sounds like music,” she compliments. 

The Doctor’s gaze lingers on her grin. “You’re not the first to say that.”

Yaz leans in close. “Say something else.”

This time, the Doctor doesn’t hesitate when she speaks, matter-of-fact. _Your cheeks dimple when you smile like that._

Yaz glows, her smile broadening, and for a moment, the Doctor really does think she’s heard. But then Yaz prods, “Say one more thing.”

The Doctor glances at the peony bud hanging precariously from Yaz’s ear. Yaz follows her gaze, fingers reaching up to put the flower back in place. But the Doctor is quicker, gently weaving the stem in Yaz’s hair as she stares into Yaz’s eyes and tells her, _I really like spending time with you, Yasmin._  

Yaz feels the sun on her back, the Doctor’s warmth against her side, and can't decide which is better. There are pleasant tremors coursing through her and the fluttering, almost painful, beat of her heart. Whatever the Doctor said, it must have been meaningful. Or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking on her part.

“What did you say?” Yaz asks. Her expression grows suspicious. “I hope you didn’t say anything rude.” The Doctor draws away from her then, and Yaz decides the Doctor’s warmth is much better. She feels the loss keenly.

The Doctor grins. “Nothing too rude,” she assures. “Anything else you want me to say?”

Yaz shakes her head. “I think my curiosity is satisfied for now.” She waits for her pulse to settle before she says, “May I make a request?”

“Always.”

“Can we stay for a little while longer? I know we usually keep it at one or two hours but if you don’t mind, I’d like to hang out here for a bit. We won’t be late for Graham and Ryan, will we?”

The Doctor gets to her feet, replies, “There’s no such thing as being late when you have a time machine.”

Yaz stands, too, smirking. “And yet you somehow manage to be late half the time you come to get us. Makes me wonder what keeps you. Another cat?”

The Doctor gives her a sidelong glance, still smiling. “Suspenders,” the Doctor answers before nodding. “Yes, let’s stay. Ryan and Graham can wait.” She guides Yaz out of the greenhouse and back into the open air. “I think there’s a willow tree somewhere around here.” 

The weeping willow is in the deepest reaches of the garden, and Yaz gapes at the height of it, at its vastness, as the Doctor gestures for Yaz to follow her inside. Thin, long branches trail down around them, long enough to graze their ankles and skim the grass. A curtain of bright green envelops them, shields them from prying eyes, and for a moment, Yaz feels like it’s just the two of them and the rest of the world has fallen away.

She’s acutely aware of everything now: the sunbeams that manage to peek through the leaves, the wind, cool and pleasant, against her warm skin, the heavy, fragrant smell of flowers on the breeze, and the Doctor, standing at the foot of the tree, leaning against the trunk, her pretty, pale fingers reaching out to twine through the slim branches before she looks at her, gives Yaz an almost shy smile as she tucks blonde hair behind her ear. And Yaz understands, with a tender, aching sort of clarity that even after the TARDIS no longer waits for her, even after the Doctor leaves for good, she will remember this moment for the rest of her days, hold it close to her heart like a precious secret.

The Doctor’s gaze doesn’t waver from hers as Yaz inches forward, gently pushing branches aside as she nears, grass brushing under her sandals as she draws closer. Yaz’s heart is racing again. She swallows, takes a breath. There’s so much she wants to tell the Doctor, things she’s wanted to admit for months now. She just has to open her mouth and say them, steel herself against whatever comes after the fall.

“Doctor,” Yaz starts. “I…” She trails off, silent panic stealing all her nerve. Instead, she gestures around them. “Thank you so much for this. Really. I can’t remember the last time I was in such a good mood.”

The Doctor grins, pleased. “Anything for a friend.”

This time, Yaz makes sure her brows don’t come together as she smiles. “Friends, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter 3 will be up by next week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the delay. It's been busy. Thank you all for taking the time to comment and send kudos. As always, all spelling and grammatical errors are my own. Enjoy!

Right before the start of summer, when Sonya leaves her temp job for a more permanent one, she corners Yaz in the kitchen twenty minutes before her shift and whispers, conspiratorially, “Let’s move in together.”

Yaz murmurs back, “You’re mad. The whole reason I’m trying to leave is to get away from you.” Sonya scowls at Yaz, her sister’s usual reaction when she’s being teased. 

Yaz makes her way to the front door, hollers a goodbye to the rest of the family, and leaves. Sonya follows, right on her heels and down the stairs with her. “It’s going to take you almost another seven months to save for a flat. But together, we can leave as soon as we want.” Yaz fishes in her handbag for her car keys, ignores Sonya as she leans against her dinged-up Peugeot. “Think about it: a flat right next to Sheffield Station. You could even sell this hideous car, too. Start taking the bus. Be a responsible adult and save the environment and all that.”

Yaz finds her keys, jams them into the lock, and twists. “Ignoring the fact that you went through my bank statements yet again,” she starts, “don’t pretend you want this for my benefit, Sonya. It’s best you just tell me what you want.” She hops inside and isn’t quick enough to lock the doors before her sister is climbing in the passenger’s side. Yaz slides the key into the ignition and starts the engine.

“I’ll wash your clothes for three months,” Sonya haggles. “Homemade dinner for a month.” 

Yaz looks offended. “I’m better at cooking than you are. Try again.” 

“Clothes for three months and I’ll pay the security deposit.” 

“Done,” Yaz agrees before Sonya can change her mind. Then she looks sceptical. “You offered that up way too quickly. What are you up to?” 

Sonya playfully shoves Yaz’s hat in her eyes before she gets out of the car. “I hope you’re on probation forever,” she says through the open window. “I hope they never let you off foot patrol.”

Yaz smiles sweetly at Sonya. “When you weren’t looking, I nicked the lunch mum packed for you. Ta,” she calls back, laughing, not waiting to see her sister’s reaction before she drives off.

She and Sonya start looking the next day but bicker endlessly about where to live. Sonya wants to be in the city centre, right next to the station. But Yaz has her heart set on a two bedroom flat just a short walk away from the Sheffield Botanical Gardens. Not exactly the Jardin du Luxembourg but her morning runs through there would be a sweet reminder. 

Graham is more than happy to give them helpful input. He tells them about the neighbourhoods with the quickest bus routes, the most timely drivers, and the flats that have everything they need without the high prices. Sonya eventually relents after Yaz offers to add more to the rent in exchange for the bigger bedroom. Three weeks later, they scrape together the money for a two bedroom close to Endcliffe Park and a short bus ride away from Sheffield Station. 

“The view is lovely,” the Doctor says as she peers at the park through the window in the sitting room. Her smile is so tender that Yaz has to briefly turn away to hide a smile of her own. She secretly hopes the Doctor is thinking fondly about the greenhouse, the willow tree, the sunrise against the Palais du Luxembourg. For weeks, Yaz has patiently waited for a moment like that to happen again, an instant where she can gather her courage, finally answer that vulnerable, hopeful part of her that’s been asking for permission each time the Doctor stares into her eyes. But the moment hasn’t come. At least not yet. 

“Yaz, where do you want the last of these?” Graham asks as he and Ryan carefully manoeuvre through the front door, their arms laden with boxes.

“You can just leave them in the kitchen. I’ll take care of them later.” Yaz sighs, exhausted but happy. “I can’t thank you guys enough. This would’ve taken forever without your help.” She grins as Ryan and Graham join them in the sitting room. “How about some takeaway? My treat.”

The Doctor is lounging on the sofa, a soft and neutral-tone sectional the Doctor presented to her and Sonya as a house-warming gift. She’s giving Yaz a considering look but when she speaks, she addresses them all. “I know a place we can go,” she suggests. “And there’s someone I’d like you all to meet.” 

Yaz’s smile brightens, pleased. The four of them are reaching the one year mark soon, and the Doctor only mentions others in passing, rarely ever speaks of friends. But for the Doctor to volunteer the information without Yaz wheedling her is a feat. She is certain the friend, whoever they are, must be very special to the Doctor, and Yaz wants to take full advantage before the Doctor changes her mind. 

Ryan smiles as well. “We’ve never met any of your other friends. Absolutely.” 

Graham nods. “As long as there’s bangers and mash involved, I’m up for anything. Where to, Doc?”

* * *

Yaz had no idea who she had pictured in her head. Maybe robots. Maybe purple-skinned people. Maybe even Oods. But Clara Oswald and Ashildr are not it. Not by a long shot. Decidedly human beings from Earth, almost pint-sized, decked out in vintage waitress uniforms. On the surface, they don’t seem like a trio who could work and function together. But the Doctor can, most of the time, find middle ground with any being. And it seems, so can Ashildr and Clara. The familiarity, the ease in which the three of them go back and forth with their stories, finishing each other’s sentences, sharing significant looks. It’s telling. 

There has to be a joke for this, Yaz thinks. Three immortals walk into a bar or something like that. In this case, a diner. 

“It was only a matter of time,” Ashildr explains to them. “Before the Doctor heard of our exploits and came to investigate.”

“Exploits? Is that what we’re calling them now?” Clara inquires.

“And what would you call them then?” the Doctor asks.

“Misadventures?” Clara ventures. “Hapless undertakings?”

The Doctor loves Clara Oswald. It was the first thing that came to Yaz’s mind when the four of them walked into the 1960s American diner on a deserted planet hours before, when she watched Clara embrace the Doctor and the Doctor give her this look, all soft and open and gentle.

“We weren’t really being discreet, mind you,” Ashildr continues. “It all started with a robbery at a party.”

“Oi! It wasn’t a robbery,” Clara replies, shooting Ashildr a vaguely annoyed look before she stares back at Yaz, Graham, and Ryan. “It was more like...Robin Hood, yeah? Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor of Santiny.”

“It was a robbery,” the Doctor and Ashildr say together, both ignoring Clara’s half-hearted protests. 

“It was supposed to be our last one,” Ashildr recounts. “We were supposed to leave Santiny that very night. But just as we were about to go, Clara here, bags full of jewellery and trinkets, saunters up to the Doctor. Obviously, she didn’t know who the Doctor was yet. Clara says to her—”

“I _love_ your trench coat,” Clara finishes as she stares up at the Doctor, chuckling. “It looks very good on you, though I think it would look much better on me.”

“And the Doctor says—” Ashildr prompts.

“Are you sure? It might not fit. You are very tiny.” The Doctor holds Clara’s gaze, and Yaz counts to five before Clara and the Doctor glance away from each other.

“Now Clara’s fishing through the Doctor’s coat pockets,” Ashildr says. “She finds the sonic screwdriver and demands to know where the Doctor got it from. Clara was convinced the Doctor had stolen it or hurt the “real” Doctor to get it. It took her a moment, but Clara finally realised who exactly was standing in front of her.” 

“So what happened? Did you get away?” Ryan asks. 

“Oh, I tried. I even tossed the Doctor’s coat back in her face to distract her. Ashildr got away but I didn’t make it very far before the authorities caught up with me,” Clara answers, pinching the Doctor’s arm for good measure. “In fact, the Doctor led them right to me.”

“I slipped a tracker on Clara’s wrist when she wasn’t paying attention,” the Doctor supplies, sounding proud and amused.

“Made me spend _weeks_ in jail. Utter cow.”

“I still think you let yourself get caught,” Ashildr mutters and Clara gives her a mischievous look in answer.

“It wasn’t all bad.” The Doctor’s voice pitches low as she says it, and Yaz’s eyes snap to her immediately, watching as the Doctor looks at Clara again. “I did come to visit quite often. I was going to get you out eventually.”

It bothers Yaz that she doesn’t recognise the Doctor’s tone—no, that’s a lie. She’s never _heard_ it before but she does know. It’s laid bare in the intention behind the Doctor’s words and she wishes she didn’t know. The Doctor is being flirtatious, and even though it wasn’t directed toward her, wasn’t meant for her at all, Yaz still presses her knees together under the table and takes a swing of her water.

“Eventually,” Clara emphasises, rolling her eyes. “So I let myself out. But of course, the Doctor followed, as if she were looking for a stray cat to adopt.”

“It’s been entertaining though,” Ashildr decides. “No wonder the Doctor loves doing this.” 

Ashildr and Clara go on to tell them more about their misadventures, sometimes with the Doctor but most times just the two of them. They talk about a boy from 1920s America brought to the year 4130 by archaeologists to be a museum exhibit. They reminisce about Daleks in Osaka in 1944. They recount their two weeks in Victorian London with the Paternoster Gang—no aliens that time but just a good, old-fashioned slew of unsolved murders. They speak about visiting a space station where all the children had been mysteriously replaced with lifelike androids.

As Yaz listens, she realises Clara and Ashildr remind her of the Doctor, of that reckless abandon that peeks through from time to time, of that otherworldliness the Doctor wears like second skin. Yaz can’t help but notice how very tame and safe their outings are compared to Ashildr and Clara’s. Part of her is appreciative of the Doctor’s consideration. Another part of her wants to be heedless the way the three of them get to be. She wants to travel long enough with the Doctor so she can feel that impulse and freedom.

Yaz excuses herself for the loo when the Doctor and Clara once again exchange speaking looks that entirely exclude everyone from the table, which, _rude_. When she gets to the toilet, she quickly closes the door behind her and heaves a quiet sigh. Yaz stands in the dark for several minutes before she switches on the light, inspects herself in the mirror, and groans mournfully as she sees the dark circles under her eyes. She was lazy this morning, just managed to put her hair in a messy topknot and throw on a denim jacket before the movers arrived. But then again, she’s been lazy every morning this week. The night patrols for work have been especially exhausting lately.

Yaz thinks about Clara, about her flawless mascara, about the dark shade of red lipstick on her mouth, about her painted nails, and peers at the disheveled version of herself in the mirror. Yaz asks her reflection, “What are you doing? Don’t be like this. You’re better than this.” She splashes some warm water on her cheeks, dries her face, and goes back to join the others. When she reaches the table, Yaz spots the Doctor and Clara at the far end of the counter near a jukebox, deliberately away from everyone else. Ashildr is nowhere to be found.

Yaz tries, really she does, to keep her attention focused on Ryan who is unusually happy tonight, telling her and Graham about an unexpected pay raise at work. But her eyes keep darting to the corner of the diner, where the Doctor and Clara are having a lively conversation.

The Doctor loves Clara Oswald. That thought keeps looping in Yaz’s head. It’s the intimacy that gives them away: the Doctor’s drawn-out touches along Clara’s hands, the way they lean into each other. It’s possessive, Yaz notes, the way Clara curls her fingers on the Doctor’s knee, the way those same fingers inch up her thigh. Sitting in a booth at the front of the diner, Yaz feels like an intruder observing the pair of them share such a private moment. 

It would be easier, maybe, if she disliked Clara. Yaz doesn’t. She knew she liked her the moment she walked up to Clara, held out her hand, and said, “I’m Yaz, amazing karaoke partner, average copper, and I have the useless talent of being able to fit into a suitcase. It’s how my parents smuggled me to Sheffield from Pakistan,” and Clara, without missing a beat, responded, “Samsonite is what my parents preferred to put me in. Nice and sturdy for those long holiday weekends to France.” 

The Doctor laughs, high and sweet, when Clara murmurs something in her ear and Yaz feels a tightness in her chest at the sight. But she can’t blame them. It makes sense. They make sense. Clara is funny and smart and beautiful, everything the Doctor could want in a romantic partner. Yaz puts a hand on her head, checking to make sure her topknot isn’t lopsided.   

“Whatever happened to that order of bangers and mash?” Graham asks aloud. “The Doc promised us a meal.”

“Rule number one,” Ashildr says with a grin, strolling up to their table. “Paying patrons are served but friends, such as yourselves, get to cook their own food.”

Yaz gets to her feet before Graham can protest. At this point, anything would be a good distraction. “It’s all right. I don’t mind helping out with the meal.”

“You cook, Yaz?” Ryan inquires.

She offers them both an amused look, replies, “Oh yeah, I love to cook, especially when I’ve met new people. That way, they’ll be disappointed from the start.”

Ryan laughs and Graham offers, “Do you need some help?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be back soon with those bangers and mash.” 

Yaz turns away from them, catching the tail end of the Doctor and Clara’s discussion. She hears Clara saying, “Not as bad as that time you left for coffee and didn’t come back for three weeks. Do you know I had to travel back to London with twenty quid and my mobile? From _Glasgow_.” 

Yaz makes sure not to sneak a glance in the corner as Ashildr ushers her to the kitchen. Ashildr tells her where the cooking equipment is kept, how to operate the griddle, and where the pantry for the dry goods is. Yaz starts to gather what she’ll need for the mash and for a moment, she thinks Ashildr is going to help her peel the potatoes. But Ashildr just grabs an apple from a fruit basket, hops onto the counter, and starts munching away.

After peeling her second potato but before starting her third, Yaz notices Ashildr is studying her as she slowly takes another bite from her apple. After about five minutes of this and not a word said between them, Yaz eyes her right back, hoping it will deter Ashildr or make her pester someone else. But it doesn’t work. Yaz suspects, being an immortal and all that, Ashildr gave up on things such as propriety and personal boundaries long ago. 

Yaz puts down the knife. “Yes?” she prods, trying to keep her voice light. “Something on my face?”

Ashildr finally looks away, cocks her head in the Doctor and Clara’s direction. “I think the first year was the easiest for her,” Ashildr starts without preamble. “A new TARDIS, a new companion, and time and space and everything in between to distract her. But then one day, we’re strolling through a forest on a uninhabited planet and she turns to me, says, ‘Doctor, what do you—?’ but stops short when she realises the Doctor’s not there anymore.

“Clara will never admit it but I know she went looking, under the guise of exploring one century or seeing another planet. Any clue or any sign and she would inevitably follow. Not out of concern that the Doctor would be lonely. In fact, I think Clara always knew the Doctor would find other people…other companions.

“But Clara also knew that she would always wonder about the Doctor. Wonder if she’s well and if she’s happy. Wonder if the Doctor thinks about her as much as Clara does the Doctor. Wonder all sorts of things that Clara could only share with her. I’m sure the Doctor did, too.”

Yaz wants to ignore everything Ashildr is telling her. Right now, she feels that lingering shame from earlier as she watched Clara’s fingers slowly skim along the Doctor’s cartilage piercings. Hearing these details that Ashildr readily volunteers is like eavesdropping on something so very personal, reading aloud their history, learning all the laws and incomprehensible, vulnerable things they’ve managed to create between each other and only for each other.

Yaz knows she should go back to her potatoes but instead she inquires, “Why didn’t they just stay together?”

Either Ashildr doesn’t hear her question or pretends not to. She continues, “I always thought, after a regeneration, the Doctor would be completely different, personality-wise. But I think, for the most part, she’s still the same.” 

Yaz is surprised by the comment, even more than that, she’s curious. “How?” 

The corner of Ashildr’s mouth twitches up. “The Doctor always lets you know where you stand with her, whether she realises it or not.” She frowns slightly. “She still loves too deeply though,” Ashildr supplies. “A bit too hard for her own good.” Yaz is about to ask her to elaborate when Ashildr catches her gaze. “Word of advice: if you want to get the Doctor’s attention, you need to be forward.”

Yaz draws her eyes back to the cutting board. She picks up the knife again, starts peeling her third potato quickly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve spent the whole night watching her. There’s no point being coy.” She sighs. “It’s like watching a really bad soap you can’t turn away from.”

Yaz feels her face grow warm. She drops the potato in a bowl of water and starts on the fourth. “Why are you telling me this?”

Ashildr shrugs. “Maybe I pity you,” she answers. “Maybe, as an immortal, I understand how important it is to have those special bonds that can face any endeavour. Or maybe it’s because I want to get to that Top Shop sale on Ganymede and I can’t do that if Clara and the Doctor end up mooning at each other for the rest of the night. Pick whichever reason is to your liking.” 

“Right,” Yaz nods. She finds something that looks like chicken sausage in the fridge and pulls it out. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Later, when they all squeeze together in the booth with their food, Yaz makes an effort to ignore the Doctor and Clara sitting next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. She thinks she partially succeeds, then realises she hasn’t when Clara says something to Ashildr and the Doctor is wholly absorbed with her words. 

It’s Clara’s voice that dooms the Doctor, Yaz decides, the sweetest siren’s song. Clara speaks and the Doctor turns toward her automatically, seeking her out. It’s gravity, it’s warm, magnetic north, as certain as flowers blooming beneath the sun. She simply can’t compete with that. 

On instinct, Yaz’s gaze seeks out Ashildr’s only to find Ashildr looking at her over the rim of her glass of orange juice, eyes knowing. Then in the next instant, Ashildr is back to eating and talking with Ryan, as if the moment had never happened.

After the meal, after Yaz, Ryan, and Graham say their goodbyes to Clara and Ashildr, they head back to the TARDIS while the Doctor lingers behind. Just when she’s about to step into the TARDIS after Graham, the Doctor is there beside her, shutting the door before she can go inside, grinning widely.

“What’d you think?” the Doctor asks. 

Yaz knows what she’s referring to but stalls anyway. “Hmm. Well, not my best bangers and mash but since Ryan is willing to eat just about anything, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“No teasing. I mean it, what’d you think of her?”

Yaz makes sure her smile is just broad enough when she says, “Clara is brilliant. They both are.” She even manages a convincing laugh. “No wonder you sneak off with them.”

“Yeah? Because I was thinking Clara could travel with us.” Then the Doctor quickly adds, “Us four. Not—”

“It doesn’t matter. The more, the merrier, right?” Yaz interrupts.

The Doctor holds her stare for a second too long before she nods, grinning again. “Clara mentioned earlier there was an abandoned colony in the far part of the galaxy she wanted to check out.”

Despite herself, Yaz’s interest is piqued. “Abandoned?”

“Yes, all the people, suddenly gone missing. It sounds like something worth looking into. Let me go get Clara and then we’ll be off.” 

“What about Ashildr?”

But the Doctor is already out of earshot, dashing back to the diner to collect Clara. Yaz leans against the TARDIS, only letting her brow furrow when she knows the Doctor is far enough away not to see her expression.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and let me know what you think. I always like to hear your thoughts. Chapter four will be up soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Second chapter up next week. Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!


End file.
